


A Symphony of Fire and Ice

by hobgoblin123



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: Blood Drinking, M/M, Masturbation, soulbond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-25 14:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21357619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobgoblin123/pseuds/hobgoblin123
Summary: After the completion of the bond Gerald decides that thousand years of celibacy are quite enough. Of course he has to find a way around the accursed compact...
Relationships: Gerald Tarrant & Damien Vryce
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	A Symphony of Fire and Ice

**Author's Note:**

> A/N1: This is a pimped up version of a story that was already posted on ffnet ages ago. I really tried not to change the POV (Damien) by means of chosing a different format for Tarrant's feelings/thought processes reaching Damien via the channel, but that simply didn't work for me in the last paragraph. Consequently, be prepared for the POV changing to Gerald's. I really couldn't help it. He demanded attention, lol.
> 
> A/N2: Hey, where is everybody? The Coldfire fandom seems to be dead at the moment, a very unfortunate development. Blackdragonsghost and Silvereyedbitch sadly left quite a while ago, but I'm really worried about what possibly happened to Shadowy Star. Dears, if any of you is still somewhere out there, please send me a pm,
> 
> A/N3: There's an interesting ebook available on Amazon, with a lot of Coldfire in it. It's called 'Fantasy Literature and Christianity: A Study of the Mistborn, Coldfire, Fionnavar Tapestry and Chronicles of Thomas Covenant Series' by Weronika Laszkiewicz. Might be an enjoyable read for us hardcore fans ;-)...
> 
> A/N4: Sorry for my long absence. My life has been a series of sicknesses for several years now, culminating in having a blasted blood clot in my lung. Thank God it was in a very fortunate spot, so that my breathing wasn't very much impaired. But that taught me something about the pitfalls of mortality for sure. Hi, Gerald...
> 
> Well, to make it short let's just say that it's currently very hard for me to find a position which allows me to write without being in pain, and there's no end of the tunnel in sight. My body seems to pop up with something new every other day or so, but I'll try to post something every now and then. Hugs to all of you!

The Patriarch's face was a mask of fury when he stripped him of the marks of his Order. Now Damien Kilcannon Vryce had lost everything he'd once held dear: his vocation, the integrity of his soul and, last but not least, the very man who'd succeeded in corrupting him just the way he'd foretold back in the rakhlands. Far beyond any help, Gerald was suffering in hell again, condemned to eternal punishment for the breach of the accursed compact he had made with the forces of the dark nigh to a thousand years ago, and he himself was bound to follow him suit, a part of his soul welcoming the plunge into the abyss with open arms. The gaping, fanged maw of hell had already opened for him, and...

Blood red mist surrounded him, and the rancid stench of the rotting corpses piled up to small mountains as far as the eye could see made him gag with revulsion. He was back in the realm of the Unnamed, wading through the boundless ocean of Tarrant's victims who could find no peace even in death. Icy hands groped his terrified flesh, and the last desperate memories of the Hunter's prey slithered through his brain like slimy maggots. He was alone, so alone, lost in a universe of death and terror. All at once, the sickening sweet-and-sour odour of decomposing bodies drowned in the even worse stench of sulphur, radiating from a presence so foul and vile that his soul started to gibber in panic. And then, bile rising in his throat, he saw...

An inferno of ash, lava and poisonous fumes. The Neocount of Merentha was chained to the naked stone, utterly helpless, while Calesta stood over him, gloating, his insect eyes gleaming with sadism and malevolence. Damien himself was bound in shackles as well, just close enough to clasp Tarrant's trembling fingers. While he was watching, the eastern sky slowly changed from deep blue to a delicate shade of pink, as pale as the palest rose. Dawn was breaking, trailing grinning death in her wake.

Horrified beyond words, he futilely struggled against his bonds when the lean frame at his side started to smoke like a heap of withered grass at the end of the dry season. Then the first rays of the sun hit them and Tarrant burst into flames, screaming his lungs out as the fire consumed him. Sharing the adept's agony via the channel was pure torture, worse than anything Vryce could have ever imagined. But although his right hand suffered severe burns and Tarrant's death grip threatened to break the bones beneath his blistering skin, he didn't let go of him, offering the only consolation available. _You don't have to die alone, Gerald. I'm with you. Always and ever. _

When it was over and nothing save some dust in the wind was left of the Lord of the Forest, he found himself sobbing like a small child, physical discomfort paling against the much worse torture of his grief. Having failed on a grand scale, all their hopes were laying in ruins. The world tasted of ashes, and death couldn't come quickly enough for him.

As soon as the the onslaught of soul-crushing terror subsided to a tolerable level at long last, Damien forced his heavy lids open, just to find himself under the scrutiny of a pair of dazzling silver eyes. "Are you all right?"

Good question. How 'all right' could a man possibly be who had just bound himself for all eternity to a vampiric demon feeding on human suffering and blood? Consuming a drop of the Hunter's unclean essence had certainly sullied his soul beyond any possibility of purification, but he'd gladly endure God's judgement if they could only save the world from Calesta's greedy clutches.

Anyway, he had more pressing matters at hand for now than his eventual damnation. Being confronted with his deepest fears once again had revealed a truth so terrifying that it made a cold sweat break out on his brow. No, he wasn't all right, not by a long shot, but there was no way he could discuss this topic with Tarrant. Especially not with Tarrant. "I've never been better," he muttered, hoping against hope that his ever so perceptive brother-in-arms wouldn't notice the blatant lie. "Ready to save the world? "

The Hunter gazed at him thoughtfully, an indefinable emotion clouding his eyes. "There's no need to hurry, Vryce. After what I've done to you. you're in dire need of a few hours of rest. No nightmares this time. You fed me enough to keep me going for a while. Thank you."

"All in a day's work," Damien shrugged, a strange sense of unease forming in the pit of his stomach. While one horror scenario after the other had been exploding in his brain, leaving him gasping and shaking on the floor of the cavern, the adept seemed to have healed completely, but there was something in his demeanour that simply didn't feel right.

Damien furrowed his brow. Tarrant behaving out of the ordinary had never boded well so far, and he harboured a sneaking suspicion that this occasion wouldn't be an exception of the rule. With almost certain death lurking just around the corner, it was utterly futile to cry over spilled milk, but memories of the man betraying them to the Undying Prince without so much as batting a golden-brown eyelash weren't exactly helpful for calming his already rattled nerves. Surely Gerald wouldn't dare to play tricks on him again. Or would he?

Heaving a sigh from the bottom of his soul, Damien wrapped himself in his blanket and tried to take a nap, but too many thoughts swirling around in his head with nagging insistence kept him wide awake for a long time in spite of his bone-deep exhaustion. When he finally managed to doze off, he slept fitfully, haunted by eerie voices and mocking laughter.

On returning to the grim reality roundabout three hours later, his body drenched in sweat as if he had just completed a long distance run, he found himself the one and only occupant of the cavern. Vryce muttered a vicious curse under his breath. No nightmares? Very funny! His undead companion might have had his fill for the night, but his own terrified mind provided them quite well on its own, thank you very much. After all the shit he'd been going through since the attack on Cee and their resulting quest, he harboured serious doubts that he would ever find some peace in sleep again. If he somehow managed to survive the next days, that is. And where the hell was Tarrant?

He found the Hunter at the mouth of the cave, gazing at the night sky in quiet contemplation. Catching the starlight, those molten pools of silver one could drown in flashed like diamonds, and Tarrant's soft hair flowed around his face like a halo spun from pure gold. With his flawless alabaster skin so utterly alien to the mortal plane, he looked like a being made from stardust himself, and Damien couldn't help but staring at him in open wonder, his heart in his mouth.

Comparing his own bulk with the Hunter's ethereal beauty, he felt awfully large and awkward, a notion that triggered memories of the sometimes less than stellar days of his youth. He'd never been clumsy when sparring or on the sports field. Quite the contrary. But attending dancing classes in his mid teens like the rest of his peers, he'd proven a complete and utter failure, so inept in fact that most of the young ladies had flatly refused to shake a leg with him in the end. Quite sensibly, they'd valued the integrity of their dainty toes over his hurt male pride.

The corners of Tarrant's mouth quirked upwards ever so slightly, as usual only visible if one knew what to look for, but Damien could feel his chuckle reverberating through his mind, a rather disconcerting experience. "That bad, Vryce?"

His ears reddening with embarrassment, Damien grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. Having Tarrant prowling around in his head was less than desirable under the given circumstances, to put it mildly, but there was nothing he could do about it. That said, he'd be damned if he voiced certain misgivings still twisting his insides into a cold, hard knot of anxiety aloud.

The surge of amusement travelling across the channel was unmistakable, but for once it was utterly devoid of derision or malice. For an instant Damien had a vision of a light brown head waltzing cheek to cheek with a reddish golden one, the couple floating gracefully over the dance floor. Adorned with silver circlets and clad in heavily embroidered silk and velvet, they were a sight to behold in those flowing robes of an age long gone by, no less beautiful than the fairy kings and queens their forefathers from Earth had supposedly told their children about at night.

When his dancing partner whispered something into his ear, Gerald smiled down at her, his clear grey eyes brimming with tenderness and affection, and suddenly the warrior knight knew who she was: Almea Tarrant, the Neocountess of Merentha. His heart clenched with pity, not just for the young woman who was doomed to die such a ghastly death at the hands of her own spouse, but also for the man who would commit the terrible deed to escape dying without ever knowing whether his life's greatest work would bear fruit one day.

All at once, the mental image of the ball room vanished, just to be replaced by a much more piquant scenario. The rays of Erna's moons illuminated a grand bed with silken drapes and elaborately carved bedposts, basking the intertwined bodies moving upon it with rising urgency in an unearthly silvery light. Watching the lovers clinging to each other in the throes of passion, their whispered endearments mingling with the cry of a hunting nowl, was a hell of a turn-on, and to his utmost horror Damien could feel his own privates responding to the stimulus.

It wasn't so much the sight of Almea Tarrant throwing back her head in rapture that went straight to his cock, helping him to the most impressive erection he'd had in ages. Getting a kick out of witnessing the pleasure of such a beautiful woman would have been only too understandable for the staunch heterosexual he'd always thought to be, nothing to worry about. But if he was honest with himself, it was the way Gerald's lean muscles were playing under the skin of his back and buttocks with each and every of his quickening thrusts, the man's panting and low moans that aroused him beyond anything he'd thought possible in his wildest dreams.

The sole inhabitant of his own head again, Damien blinked, completely nonplussed. Tarrant was doubtlessly a very private person. It had taken Jenseny's unique abilities to unearth the fact that the man hadn't killed his eldest son back then in the Revival period, to mention just one example. He most certainly hadn't talked about his marriage, let alone his sex life. The mere idea was bizarre in the extreme. That he had chosen to share something so intimate now, for no apparent reason – Damien couldn't wrap his head around it.

A tentative sidelong glance didn't gain him any further information. The Hunter's pale face was calm and composed, seemingly utterly untouched by the troubles of the mortal world.

Still somewhat baffled, he followed Tarrant's line of vision to the awe-inspiring symphony of fire and ice high above their heads, marvelling at the eternal dance of light and utter darkness that had been enthralling humanity for ages until their ancestors from Earth had finally answered its call and reached for the stars. Briefly, he wondered whether they'd ever be able to watch the night sky again. As much as he wished otherwise, it was very well possible that they would both die the following night, and he prayed that if the worst came to the worst, they'd at least manage to take Calesta with them and thus save mankind from a horrible fate. Then he added another silent prayer. Not for his own survival, but for Gerald's.

"Damien?"

The Hunter calling him by his given name, something he'd done only once or twice before in all the long months they'd been fighting side by side, snapped him out of his reverie. Somehow, the mood had changed from peaceful companionship to something else entirely while his mind had been on other things. Reading Tarrant's exact thoughts was beyond him, but he sensed a definite feeling of unease in the man, mingling with the very same unflinching determination that had carried him right into a new existence as a creature of the night so many years ago.

So he hadn't been imagining things. Something was going on in that brilliant brain, and he could only hope that it had nothing to do with the one and only topic he intended to avoid by all means.

"When you realized who I was, you wanted me dead," the adept whispered. "You even had the audacity to swear into my face that you'd try to kill me yourself. Why do you fear my demise more than your own death now? "

_So much for hoping for the best_, Damien groaned inwardly. Of course it had been outright foolish to trust that Tarrant would miraculously remain ignorant of his emotional dilemma in the wake of the final completion of their bond. Doing things by halves simply wasn't the man's style.

His face uncomfortably hot and his thoughts racing, Damien had never been more grateful for the relative darkness. If he tried hard enough, he might be able to talk his way out of this mess. Not that he'd ever been able to pull the wool over the Hunter's eyes, but maybe the ever so courteous son of a bitch would pretend to believe his flimsy subterfuges and let the matter rest. It was possible, but not very likely.

The almost palpable waves of frustration and utter bewilderment still radiating from Tarrant were somewhat jarring, anyway. Soulbound to him for the rest of his days and maybe beyond, the bastard should know perfectly well what all this shit was about, whether he liked it or not. So what the heck was the problem now?

But then something clicked in his head, and everything fell into place. Forever banished to the darkest hours since his abysmal fall from grace, Tarrant couldn't walk about in broad daylight - or attempt a true Healing, for that matter - but other than that, there seemed to be almost no limits to his powers. No one save him had ever been able to kill with a mere thought or mastered the art of shape-shifting into an animal, just to name a few of his feats. But recognizing something as simple as affection obviously was beyond a creature thriving on suffering and death.

Damien had been willing to die for the sake of humankind since he'd heeded the call to do God's bidding in his late teens. He'd lost the vocation that had meant the world to him, but he was still a Knight of the Flame, and if he had to sacrifice his life for a hallowed cause, so be it. Quite a while ago he'd even resigned himself to paying the ultimate price for the Hunter's redemption if need be, as absurd as it may sound. But it had never occurred to him that he would have to dredge up all the courage he possessed to answer one single question.

At first, having no clue how to to get across the unthinkable, he came damn close to pivoting on his heels and letting Tarrant come to his own conclusions, but when he finally plucked up courage, his words came out in a rush. "Alright then. You want to know why the mere thought of losing you scares the shit out of me? God is my witness that you're a vain, arrogant know-it-all, never mind your unsavioury eating habits, and I'm sure as hell the most foolish masochist on Erna not only to put up with your antics, but to worry myself sick about you. But whatever you're now, you used to be the founder of my faith and premier knight of my Order. The Prophet of the Law. I simply can't bear the idea of you suffering in hell for all eternity without a possibility of redeeming yourself in the Lord's eyes. It drives me crazy."

Shivering with the force of his pent-up emotions breaking free from their shackles at long last, Damien didn't give a damn for his pride anymore. "Or maybe it's because in death you'll take my soul with you, or whatever is left of it by now, leaving only an empty husk behind," he stumbled on, barely recognizing his own voice. "Damn you, Gerald, if you're really blind to my feelings for you, just make an educated guess."

For a fleeting second a vision of the entwined bodies of Almea and Gerald Tarrant drifted through his mind again. "I cannot lay with you, if that's what you want,” the Hunter said softly. “Any acts of procreation are as deadly to me as the sunlight. I've never regretted that. Until now."

Damien very nearly forgot how to breathe. Had he lost his marbles, a not too far-fetched theory after everything he'd been through lately, or had the adept just casually admitted to not being altogether adverse to having it off with him, his silken voice as calm as if he were talking about the weather? To say that this was pretty astonishing didn't even touch it.

"Unless you're intent on catching some insects for a late dinner, you'd better close your mouth, Vryce."

The warrior knight's scowl would have made a lesser man quake in his boots, but Tarrant just stared back utterly unfazed, a calculating expression in his eyes. "You scheming bastard are up to something," Damien growled with rising exasperation. "I know that look, so don't bother denying it."

"Do you remember what you offered Karril as an incentive for accompanying you on your rescue mission to hell?"

As if he could ever forget. Half out of his mind with dread, he would have promised the Iezu Erna's moons if necessary. But that Tarrant apparently was in on his desperate suggestion didn't sit well with him at all.

"Answer me, Vryce!" the Hunter snapped, the unmistakable tone of command in his voice making Damien's hackles rise even more. "The night isn't getting any younger, and I'd rather come to the point."

"I promised to masturbate for him, fool that I am. Hope that makes you happy."

"It would actually make me happy if you could do the very same for me."

By now, Vryce was rather sure that he was either suffering from an acute hearing problem or at least one of them had finally given in to the strain and cracked up completely. Not a good omen for their mission, as far as he was concerned.

Tarrant's face could have been a mask carved from precious numarble, but the tension in his shoulders belied his feigned nonchalance. Realizing that the man was no more comfortable with the situation than he himself somewhat smothed Damien's ruffled feathers, but he still couldn't even begin to fathom why his companion would make such an outrageous proposal. "Let me get this right, Gerald," he forced out between clenched teeth. "You want to watch me jerking off in front of you like a vulking exhibitionist, right? That's pretty bizarre in my book, but I've heard stranger things since I've teamed up with you. But it escapes me what you're hoping to gain from it. You can't feed on lust, can you?"

There was no verbal reply to his question, but the surge of foreign emotions invading his brain via the channel hit him with the force of a quake.

_ 'Hatred, no less burning than the lethal rays of the sun. Thirst for vengeance and the joyful anticipation of tearing the being responsible for his impending demise limb from limb, basking in the ecstasy of the demon's suffering. A soul-crushing fear of the horrors lurking beyond the gates of hell and the absolute certainty that tonight was the last chance to lose himself in the powerful dance of light and darkness, blazing nuclear fire and the icy depths of space. Fire and ice. Vryce and himself. He had always suspected that the One God of their faith had a somewhat weird sense of humour. Now he was sure of it. _

_And there was something else he knew with equal conviction: If an existence of nigh to a thousand years was about to come to an end in a few hours, he wanted to feel truly alive for one last time. His own undead body wouldn't respond to whatever sexual stimulation, so sharing Vryce's pleasure was the only option he had. But he wished so many things, futile, human things he'd thought dead and buried along with his wife Almea so many years ago.'_

The sheer enormity of it all brought tears to the warrior knight's eyes. Almost choking on his emotions, he threw all caution to the wind and pulled Tarrant into his arms. At first, his ally against odds stood stiff as a poker, his body completely rigid. Damien didn't resent him his reticence. After a millennium of utter touch deprivation it wasn't altogether surprising that the man wasn't quite at ease in his embrace.

After what felt like a small eternity of breathless tension, the adept yielded to him with a low, wistful sigh. "At the beginning of our acquaintance I would have deemed this outright impossible," he whispered, a look of wonder on his face. "But evidently there's more than a grain of truth in the old saying that as old as you get, you never stop learning."

Then Tarrant bent down to him with a faint smile and kissed him squarely on the mouth. His body reacted to the comparatively chaste peck like a forest at the height of the dry season to a carelessly discarded match. and when a slender hand brushed teasingly over the bulge in his trousers, the fleeting touch as light as a feather, all reason was burned out of him. Shivering with the force of his need, he fumbled with the buttons of his pants like a blithering idiot until he finally managed to bare himself to the Hunter's hungry gaze.

His first strokes were tentative, a mere testing of the waters, but after a while he settled into a slow but steady rhythm. And all the time Tarrant kept staring at him without blinking once, seemingly utterly transfixed by the proceedings.

Aching to give as much pleasure as possible under the given circumstances, Damien forced himself to stop and dug his folding knife out of his vest pocket. The sharp blade sliced smoothly through the skin on his chest, leaving a shallow cut that bled freely but wouldn't impair his mobility in a fight. Gerald's delicate nostrils flared as the scent of warm, living blood mingled with the cool night air, and an ungodly red spark lit up in his eyes. At the very next moment Vryce found himself flat on his back, the Hunter mantling over him like a deadly bird of prey.

Slowly, so very slowly Tarrant tilted his head forwards until his frigid lips made contact with his skin. His tongue flicked out like a snake's, licking at the red rivulets running down his torso, just to trace a line of cold fire to his left nipple. As he started to circle the little nub of flesh, Damien arched into his touch with a low whimper. The bond reverberating with the adept's pleasure at tasting his blood and every fibre of his own body screaming for release, it was sheer torture to keep himself from pumping his cock as hard and fast as he could, but he didn't want this to end. Not yet, anyway. He would have paid a king's ransom for being able to go all the way only once, but however much he might wish otherwise, violating the laws the Unnamed had established when accepting the sacrifice of Tarrant's humanity was out of the question. He hadn't dragged the man back from hell, just to be his undoing on the knees of Mount Shaitan.

But Damien's desire to become one with him, body and soul, became so overpowering that it prompted an idea he would have vehemently rejected a mere year ago. Save that one exception in the caves of the Lost Ones, Tarrant had always used a glass, a canteen or whatever vessel available when helping himself to his blood, pernickety bastard that he was. The warrior knight had never found out whether said pernicketiness had played a part in this or his companion had spared him the discomfort of his bone-chilling touch in a rare fit of compassion. Maybe the Hunter simply hadn't been altogether keen on infecting himself with what he was wont to call the 'taint of humanity'. Everything was possible when it came down to the unfathomable maze that was Tarrant's mind.

In the end, it didn't matter, anyway. Damien was neither blind nor daft. He'd gotten his hands on a fascinating but indexed collection of old Earth legends roundabout a decade ago, and witnessing a faeborn vampire going about his business at Karril's temple had provided further enlightenment. So he knew that there was another way to share the vital essence of man, a twisted but darkly seductive way that had no place under a sunlit sky.

With amazing gentleness for someone of his bulk, he pulled the adept closer to the large blood vessels pulsing at the crook of his neck. "Bite me, Gerald.”

Tarrant's head shot upwards, his pale eyes wide with shock. "You can't be serious, Vryce," he retorted icily. "None of my victims has ever dared to ask me to do it the old way. Unless I planted the notion in her mind for my own benefit, that is. I can only assume that your arousal is addling your brain."

"But I'm not a victim, just the madman who deeply cares about you, remember? And now cut the vulking debate and get going, damn you!"

Although there was no mistaking the expression in those molten pools of silver for anything but undisguised hunger, the Hunter cast him a withering glare. "Don't tempt me one time too many," he hissed, his brows knitted into a tight frown. "You cannot imagine for how long I've been yearning for drinking my fill of you, straight from the source. But what if lose control? I might even kill you. Or myself, for that matter. As it happens, I'm not altogether keen on both options, but there's more to it than that. This isn't just about us, priest. Our failure would condemn mankind to eternal slavery. You'd better keep that in mind before playing with fire."

"I trust you, Gerald. And if we are to die tomorrow, well, I'd rather bite the dust with a sweet memory under my belt."

The way Tarrant silently mouthed 'sweet memory', his face the very picture of incredulity, would have been outright comical under different circumstances. With a little bit of imagination Damien could almost see those brilliant brain cells working at lightning speed, analyzing, evaluating, calculating the odds. The thought made him grin inwardly. There was nothing to be said against putting mind over matter every now and then. Without the adept's cold-blooded, utterly ruthless machinations, they would have never made it back to the eastern lands alive and in one piece - or what counted for 'alive' in Gerald's particular case. But there was a time and a place for everything, or so it was said. As to him, his ever so rational companion could only profit from a dose of honest human emotion. Maybe it would help him along on the long and winding road to redemption.

"You've got something on your chin." The words had barely left his mouth when he put his tongue to a better use, daringly licking up a stray droplet of blood that stood out against the ghostly pallor of the Hunter's skin like the biblical mark of Cain. Very much to his amazement, the coppery taste wasn't unpleasant at all, and his arousal flared up again with a vengeance, the sensation increasing tenfold when he found a new target in cold but so very soft lips which parted for him without hesitation. The taste of his own blood still heavy on his tongue, he plundered Tarrant's mouth with utter abandon until the Lord of the Forest broke the kiss and drew back slightly. “As you wish, Damien. As you wish,” he breathed.

Locking eyes with him, Tarrant went completely still, not even breathing, and Damien watched in rapt attention as the cultivated, elegant Revivalist aristocrat transformed into something else entirely.

In stark contrast to the myths which had travelled with humankind from Earth to Erna, Gerald's teeth usually were well within the parameters of the human condition. Quite a few people had sharp, pointy canines, a heritage from their primitive past. It was a fascinating, if somewhat unsettling experience to see them lengthening into the semblance of the bared fangs of a predator getting ready for the kill.

It wasn't the only change wrought in Tarrant's appearance. His pupils dilated until they were black holes in a bone-white face, windows to a world of eternal darkness and terror far beyond mortal reckoning, and his bones seemed to become more prominent beneath the near to translucent skin. Nobody in his or her right mind could have mistaken him for a mere mortal now. Shedding the assumed guise of a man at long last, he looked every inch what he truly was beneath the sophisticated veneer: a deadly creature of the night, both terrifying and alluring in its grace and wild, untamed beauty.

But there was an all too human emotion in those utterly otherworldly eyes. Damien was shocked to realize that for someone despising inhuman species like the rakh the way Gerald did, the courage it must have taken him to drop the façade and let him witness his transformation was beyond his comprehension. And yet the adept had done it, had chanced encountering revulsion, even loathing in spite of his fear of rejection, a true gift for the one and only mortal he had come to trust in a thousand years.

A surge of intense relief washed over him. So he had been right, after all. A tiny spark of the great man Tarrant once had been in an age now long gone from living memory had kept smouldering beneath the ashes of a thousand years of corruption, just to be rekindled to a blazing flame by what could only be affection for his human companion.

The Hunter certainly had come a long way over the last years, literally and figuratively speaking. On rare occasions he was capable of feeling compassion now, was even willing to risk his neck in order to save a friend, as he had proved when the mob had attacked them in Seth. That leaving Damien behind would have meant walking into death's waiting arms all on his own was of no consequence in the matter. If they survived what was waiting for them on Mount Shaitan, the fallen founder-father of his faith would find his way back to God at long last, that was as sure as day followed night. He would see to it personally, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

Flashing the adept a reassuring smile, he started to caress himself again at a leisurely pace, replacing his fingers with Tarrant's in his mind. Imagining the man jerking him off was pretty inspiring, and it didn't take long until his breath was coming in short, rapid gasps.

All at once, a slender hand closed around his own. It neither forced him to slow down even further nor urged him to speed up, just matched his strokes in perfect harmony and let him dictate the rhythm. His cock was slick with his fluids now, adding to the lustful sensations building up deep down in his abdomen, and he knew that if this went on, he wouldn't last much longer.

Just when he was about asking Tarrant to get going at long last and to hell with making allowances for him, the Hunter's head darted forward in a motion so fast that the human eye couldn't follow. Sharp teeth pierced his skin, and the world stopped turning. There was no sadistic Iezu on the rampage anymore, no loss of the vocation meaning the world to him and the prospect of a painful death on that blasted volcano. All that mattered was the incredible sensuality of the frigid but so very gentle lips working at his throat and the channel opening wide, drowning him in Gerald's primeval pleasure.

_'Salty-coppery blood prickled on his tongue and ran all the way down his oesophagus into a stomach long weaned from human food, veritable rivers of life sending shockwaves of bliss through every fibre of his being. The almost orgiastic high of having his hunger, thirst and deeper desires slaked at the same time was mind-blowing, intoxicating in a way he could never ever hope to explain to a mortal, and sharing the priest's mounting arousal via the link only added to his rapture. Vryce was the fire to his ice, and now he was melting in the man's muscular arms, the glacial, impenetrable walls that had been protecting his heart for so many centuries dissolving like Coldfire touched by the sun._

_ Before he had found a less physical method of draining his victims off their vital energy, he had killed the old way countless times, but nothing had ever tasted as good as the nectar effortlessly pumped into his mouth by Damien's hammering heart, flooding his body and mind alike with his companion's essence.The warrior knight was close now, so very close, his muscles taut as a bowstring in his straining for release. Fingers and souls intertwined, he could share his pleasure, could feel those calloused digits flying over the most sensitive spot just below the glans until reality and illusion merged into one blinding inferno of lust. _

_The tiny part of his brain still able to form a coherent thought knew very well that he needed to stop soon if he didn't want to risk permanent damage or worse, but his predatory instincts howled at him in protest, urged him to keep going, one delicious sip after the other. The sheer carnality of it all was incredible, and for a crazed, drugged second his longing to become one with the man who had gone to hell for his sake in a thoroughly mundane way was so overwhelming that he was tempted to risk death for it. Then Vryce cried out his name, shuddered and jerked helplessly beneath him, and he tore his mouth away with his last ounce of resolve and collapsed atop him, as spent as if it had been his own seed coating their still joined hands._

Shaken to his very core, the Hunter carefully extricated his teeth and sealed the wounds. If Damien had needed a bit more time to find fulfilment, he might have killed or at least incapacitated him, and considering how flushed he felt himself, he could very well have burst into flames at any given minute. How careless and stupid! He'd always prided himself on his ability to subdue the pitiful whims of the flesh come what may, and losing control in such an unacceptable way was outright disgusting. Of course the whole mess was completely Vryce's fault. That irrational, stubborn priest and his insane notion of redeeming him! If they survived fighting Calesta against all odds, he'd get rid of that ludicrous dependency as soon as possible, even if it meant killing...

Strong arms closed around his waist and pulled him into a hug. “Yeah, Gerald, you're such a bad boy,” Damien yawned contentedly. “And now stop fretting and let's get some rest.”

Soothed by the unmistakable warmth and affection in the warrior knight's deep voice very much against his will, Gerald Tarrant finally surrendered to the pleasant haze of afterglow and allowed himself a small, self-deprecating smile. Fooling himself wasn't an option. He wouldn't willingly harm Vryce, not after everything that had come to pass between them. His own time on Erna was drawing to a close in all likelihood, but whatever might happen on Mount Shaitan, he would do everything in his power to keep his favourite priest alive. That was a promise, maybe the most important one he'd ever made.


End file.
